


as we lie here in our bed

by FandomTrash24601



Series: Only Room to Rise [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anyways, Brotherly Love, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Friendships, Domestic Fluff, Everyone Is Gay, Family Feels, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Friendship, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hugs, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inspired by The Accidental Warlord and His Pack Series - inexplicifics, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Patience, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Knives, M/M, Nudity, Pack Cuddles, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, Platonic Cuddling, Rehabilitation, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, The Law of Surprise (The Witcher), Witcher Senses, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), and for that it is rated M, hey that was alliteration, it's Loving Eskel Hours babey, jaskier is actually a gentleman you guys, looking back at it Markus' mold may have been symbolic, mostly made-up magical medicine, no beta we die like renfri, none of it is discussed in too much detail but it is discussed, sometimes you need to touch someone, surely nobody can relate to that during a pandemic, the power of friendship compels you, whittling, with a touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27333694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomTrash24601/pseuds/FandomTrash24601
Summary: Jaskier doesn’t often use the word miracle, but it’s truly a miracle that Markus lived long enough to be rescued, much less recover.Title from The Amazing Devil's "That Unwanted Animal"
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Character(s), Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Male Character(s), Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Witcher Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Original Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion & Original Male Character(s)
Series: Only Room to Rise [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806898
Comments: 74
Kudos: 439





	as we lie here in our bed

Jaskier doesn’t often use the word miracle, but it’s truly a miracle that Markus lived long enough to be rescued, much less recover. Sure, he’s crotchety about not being back in peak shape after a month even with magical intervention, and sure, he’s going through a truly unfortunate stage of hair regrowth after it all had to be chopped off, but things could be far worse. He could not have Eskel, for one, who’s been a complete darling even if a tad overprotective.

“If you’re thinking about Geralt again, don’t,” Markus says. He’s laying in bed, as per Triss’ orders, working away at a small chunk of wood with a genuine set of whittling knives that Stefan had snuck him. Triss and Yen had tried to put a stop to it, but Markus maintained that it was a good, gentle way of rehabilitating his hands. Jaskier and Eskel had both backed him, earning them fleeting ire from the mages and eternal gratitude from the bedbound Witcher. “The last time you smelled of fondness like that it switched to lust and you steeped the whole damn room in it. I couldn’t even leave the room to get away.”

“That’s a little rude,” Jaskier huffs. “But I was thinking about Eskel, so there’s no need for you to worry your pretty little head.”

“What about Eskel?” Markus asks, not looking up from his whittling but pausing for just a moment. He thinks he’s being subtle. It’s cute.

“Just how great he’s been. Well, great when he’s actually been here.”

Markus hums, setting his whittling down into his lap. Someone’s going to have to scoop up the shavings and dump them in a bucket, and it’s probably going to be Jaskier, but he doesn’t mind.

“I can’t believe he kept it together so well,” Markus says. “I was…”

“It was ugly,” Jaskier confirms. “And I only saw you after Eskel and Triss had gotten done with you. Quite honestly, I can’t believe you survived; I wouldn’t have.”

Markus frowns. “Of course you wouldn’t have. You’re only a human.”

Jaskier shakes his head and sinks back in his chair, throwing his feet up onto the bed. “Not like that. I mean more...mentally.”

“Well, I don’t know.” Markus grips the crude, still-formless carving tightly and stares at the bookshelf instead of Jaskier. “Witcher training and all. We’re resilient.”

“You were routinely tortured, experimented on, starved and dehydrated, and left to sit in your own filth for more than a decade,” Jaskier says softly. “I was only a captive for seven years, and compared to your experiences I lived in luxury, but even that almost broke me.”

That, at last, gets Markus to look at him. “You were a captive, too?”

Jaskier offers his brightest smile, but it’s still tight. “Isn’t it charming? Eskel saved both of us like the sweetheart he is.”

Evening is turning over into night, the evening meal long finished. There’s a fire going in the hearth since Markus’ body is still recovering and he’s always cold. Somewhere in Poviss, Geralt and Eskel are negotiating a contract; Vesemir has been holding down the keep for a week and a half now, but that doesn’t stop Ciri, Jaskier, and Markus from missing them.

“What…” Markus licks his smooth lips, clears his throat. “What happened? If you’re comfortable, that is.”

Jaskier waves a hand dismissively and hopes that Markus won’t bring attention to the way his heart is galloping. “No, of course. I, uh, I was a Child of Surprise, inherited by the Viscount and Viscountess of Lettenhove. They sold me at the age of twelve, and I found myself—after a brief stint in a slaver’s caravan and a few minutes on an auction block—as one of King Vizimir’s bed warmers. His favorite, actually, after a short while; I’ve always been a quick learner. When Vizimir made his final stand, holed up in his rooms, I was the one he designated to warm his bed one last time.” Jaskier smiles. “That means that when Aiden dropped the bastard, I was there to see it. They didn’t know what to do with me once they realized I was in the room, but I convinced Eskel to let me come to Kaer Morhen. I was willing to learn how to bake bread, tan leather, anything to make myself useful so that I could stay and live longer than a year. Eskel had to get Geralt’s permission to let me stay, though, and—” He spreads his hands. “—the rest is history.”

Markus looks a little gray. It’s a good thing that they can notice that, though; the mold on Markus’ skin has been eradicated by a combination of frequent application of Triss’ balm and purely magical attention by both Triss and Yen. Their magic has put more muscle on him, sped up his rehydration process, and even sped up his hair growth, so that in just the few weeks he’s been here it’s as if he’s healed enough for several months. With any luck Markus and Eskel will be able to touch each other by the time the negotiations are over.

“You were twelve?” he asks, aghast. “What kind of  _ monsters—” _

“That was Geralt’s reaction.” Jaskier laughs. “I had to convince him not to kill them. In any case, my captivity wasn’t even that bad compared to yours. I was fed, I was given a bed, I wasn’t beaten too often…”

“You were  _ twelve,” _ Markus repeats. “I’m more than a century old; ten years is only about a tenth of my life, not—not—”

“More than a third,” Jaskier says, no longer able to keep up an amused front. “Yeah.”

They’re silent for a long time. It’s not a cold silence, though, or even a very awkward one; more than anything, it’s a silence of understanding and companionship.

“Is that why you so easily agreed to stay by me?” Markus asks, fiddling with the unidentifiable carving. At this point it could be either a horse or a trebuchet and Jaskier wouldn’t have the slightest clue. “Because you understood?”

“It was certainly part of it,” Jaskier admits easily.

Markus looks at him with scrutinizing yellow eyes, sad things that leave Jaskier moments from squirming in his seat. “You’re far more than I thought you were,” he finally says.

“I live to surprise.”

There’s a gentle knock at the door, Triss’ signature sound. She’s wearing a gorgeous red dress when she steps inside and Jaskier loves her for her impeccable taste. Markus doesn’t look nearly as impressed by the sight of her, which Jaskier supposes is fair considering both that Witchers don’t have much of a sense of fashion and Markus hasn’t been exposed to outside fashion for a decade.

“I see you’ve been whittling again,” she says with a smile.

“What else is there for me to do?” Markus lets Jaskier scoop up the wood shavings without complaint or mention that his hands are rather near some delicate bits. He just relaxes into the pillows and asks, “What’s the verdict?”

Wood shavings gone, Triss pulls back the heavy covers and urges Markus to stand. By having him wear long layers they don’t have to change the sheets every single day, which makes everyone just a little happier. Markus supports himself on encouragingly sturdy legs and then strips his shirt. Triss’ eyes are purely clinical as they sweep over his skin. If there’s any mold left, Jaskier can’t see it with his own human eyes. The process repeats with his pants and braies, and here Jaskier politely averts his eyes. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, technically, but it’s not his to look at.

“You look good,” Triss chirps. She’s looked a little tired for weeks now, yet this news seems to have brought exuberance back to her. “The mold is gone.”

“It’s—” Jaskier can hear Markus sputtering as he pulls on a new pair of braies. “I can touch people now?”

“You can.” Triss’ voice is saturated in mirth, but she doesn’t laugh; they can’t even imagine how long it’s been since Markus has been touched in a way that was purely friendly. Even Jaskier had Yvonne to cling to at night, or a friendly servant to nudge shoulders with.

Markus barks out a sharp piel of laughter and takes her face between his palms before swooping in to press a loud, smacking kiss to her forehead. Triss can’t help but dissolve into laughter herself, especially when Markus all but yanks Jaskier out of his chair to embrace him. He doesn’t even have to be asked before he’s squeezing Markus as tightly as he can with his human muscles, knowing that after so long Markus needs something solid. It aches a little when Markus melts into him, when he buries his face in Jaskier’s neck and holds on with such strength that breathing grows a little difficult. Jaskier stays quiet and lets Markus take what he needs. It’s the least he can do, the only thing he can offer.

“We’ll change your sheets one last time, just to make sure there’s no mold residue,” Triss says when Markus peels slowly away from Jaskier. “You seem strong enough; do you want to help?”

“You’re letting me do something more than sit and whittle?” Markus asks through a laugh. “I would love to help you change the sheets, Triss.”

Jaskier, with no interest in sheet-changing, remains where he is. Markus takes to the task with great enthusiasm. By the time they’re done, Markus looks tired but flushed with joy and health, and it’s the best sight Jaskier could ask for. He’s still too skinny, still bears tender scars around his wrists and on his back, still can’t do too much without tiring himself, but he looks alive and happy to be that way.

When the bed is set, Triss bids them goodnight. The fire crackles merrily in the hearth and makes Markus’ eyes look even more yellow than they normally are. He sits cross-legged atop the sheets, dressed again in loose night-pants and one of Eskel’s shirts. Jaskier doesn't know where the shirt came from.

“It’s nice to see you healthy,” Jaskier says. “I don’t know how I would’ve handled it if I hadn’t been allowed to touch Geralt for weeks after meeting him.”

“We’ve been able to touch somewhat.” Markus picks up his whittling again, pauses, sets it down in his lap. “He just had to wash everything afterwards.”

“That still sucks. But think of how Eskel will react when he gets back! It will be the welcome-home hug to end all welcome-home hugs.”

Markus laughs, but there’s something uneasy about it. Jaskier frowns and leans forward in his chair, trying to catch Markus’ slippery eyes.

“What is it?” he asks.

“You’re too damn perceptive,” Markus grumbles, rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s nothing, I promise.”

“If it was nothing, it wouldn’t be bothering you.”

“It’s stupid, then.”

“What’s wrong with stupid? I’ve got plenty of stupid hangups myself; I should tell you about that time that Ciri bought a shawl.”

Markus scowls at the carving that he turns over and over in his hand.

“Is it, perhaps, that you want skin contact and don’t want to sound like any less of a big, bad Witcher by asking me to cuddle you?”

After a long time, Markus nods his head. He’s still not looking up from his lap.

“Don’t be silly,” Jaskier says, standing up and pulling off his boots. “I’ve been dying for a good cuddle since Geralt left. Come on, scooch over and lay down.”

Markus gapes but does as asked, and soon enough Jaskier’s stripped down to his braies and his chemise and has climbed into bed.

“Geralt’s not going to have a problem with this?”

“Of course not. Not unless you plan on making any moves.”

“No.” Markus’ tone is surprisingly vehement. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Ah, caught up on the bed warmer thing, are you? Don’t worry about it. So, how are we going to do this?”

Markus is laying flat on the bed, staring up at him with something between awe and befuddlement. “What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to spoon you? Or you could spoon me. Or we could  _ really  _ spice it up and have me lay on top of you like a human-sized blanket. Whatever’s comfortable.”

“Could…” Markus rolls onto his side, facing away from Jaskier. “...like this?”

Jaskier doesn’t answer verbally, but he slides easily into place behind Markus. He twists their legs together and folds an arm over Markus’ chest, shoving his nose into the crook of Markus’ neck. It’s a surprisingly comfortable position, especially with Markus’ musk-and-flowers scent tickling his nose, and Jaskier tries not to smile where Markus can feel it as Markus’ body steadily grows looser.

Markus lays his arm over Jaskier’s, laces their fingers, and lets out a slow, shaking breath. It’s enough.

Jaskier drifts upward to a semi-conscious state some time later, lulled by voices and words that he can’t quite parse.

“...position?”

“He’s perceptive.”

“He is indeed. Can we join you?”

“If you can both fit.”

There’s a warm presence at his back, and he sighs happily as he wiggles back a little to press into it. A warm rumbling washes over him and draws him back below the inky, dreamy depths.

When he wakes up in the morning, the fire is out but he’s hovering just on the verge of too hot. There are two more bodies in the bed than there were when Jaskier fell asleep, one with white hair and one with a scarred face. Geralt is tucked up against his back, and Eskel has spooned up in front of Markus. They’re like four little peas in a pod, except the pod is almost too small and he’s certain that at least one of Eskel’s limbs is hanging off of the bed.

“Good morning,” Geralt murmurs.

Jaskier sighs happily and cranes his neck so that Geralt can press a slow, syrupy kiss to his lips. Having Geralt back has settled something in him that he hadn’t quite known was disturbed, but he’s home now, so everything is better.

“How did the talks go?” he murmurs.

“Good. We’ll have to head back soon enough, but they’re not being hostile.”

“Not hostile is always good.” He turns his face back into Markus’ neck, feeling sleep-heavy and like he could sink back into slumber with ease. “Glad you guys are back.”

“I see that Markus’ mold is gone.” Geralt presses a series of kisses to Jaskier’s neck. “Or are we all moldy, now?”

“It’s gone. ‘N he wanted some friendly touch, so…”

“I don’t blame him for it. I know I would.”

“It’s too early for this, Wolf,” Eskel slurs from the other side of the bed. “Go back to sleep, for the gods’ sakes.”

“Fuck off,” Geralt mutters. “You say this like you aren’t awake too.”

“Because  _ you  _ woke me.”

“How the fuck are you two running an empire?” Markus mumbles. It looks like they’re all awake now. Jaskier, with his eyes closed, feels Markus shuffle and has a feeling that Eskel has just been thoroughly glommed on to. “Bickering like kids. Now shush n’ go t’ sleep.”

And really, who is Jaskier to deny Markus’ request? The four of them do fit together so very nicely, and the bed is very warm, and the bodies on either side of him are comfortable...

**Author's Note:**

> Am I currently entirely overwhelmed by school and like three seconds from burning out in spectacular fashion at any given moment? Yes. (Am I posting this instead of doing homework? Also yes.) I know this is shorter than anything else from this series but it just kinda decided to be done there; I haven't added anything to this doc in about three weeks. And it was long enough/complete enough to post and I very desperately need positive feedback in any way, shape, or form as the end of the semester looms, so here we are. Let me know what you thought!


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